


cross my heart and hope to die

by tamquams



Series: this room feels electric, caught here in your sights [2]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Adam Parrish Loves Ronan Lynch, Adam Parrish's Birthday, Alternate Universe, Happy Birthday Adam Parrish, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Robert Parrish Is His Own Warning, Ronan Compliant Language, Ronan Lynch Loves Adam Parrish, this takes place in my gym au universe so maybe read that but you don't have to?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:00:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25046536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamquams/pseuds/tamquams
Summary: “Do you ever,” Adam sighed, squirming slightly where he was sprawled on his back in Ronan’s bed. “Do you ever just feel like your heart is gonna explode?”
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Noah Czerny/Henry Cheng, Richard Gansey III/Blue Sargent, Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Series: this room feels electric, caught here in your sights [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1814953
Comments: 24
Kudos: 180





	cross my heart and hope to die

**Author's Note:**

> exactly one person asked for another story in the gym au universe, so here we are. if you're interested in reading the original fic, you can find it [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24747112) ♡ hope you like it!

“Do you ever,” Adam sighed, squirming slightly where he was sprawled on his back in Ronan’s bed. “Do you ever just feel like your heart is gonna explode?”

Ronan hummed, tracing a hand idly through Adam’s hair. The movement was awkward, the angle wrong, but nothing so pedestrian could stop Ronan Lynch from touching his boyfriend. “I think that’s called a panic attack,” he said. 

Adam huffed, but he didn’t move out of Ronan’s reach. “I mean in a good way,” he amended. “Like, do you ever… _love_... so hard… that your heart just _hurts_?”

In his surprise, Ronan’s hand stilled, but then he gained control over himself again and resumed his ministrations. “Yeah,” he said softly, eyes trained on the ceiling. “Yeah, all the time.”

Adam said nothing else. He had already dropped a confession the size of an a-bomb into the conversation; they both needed a few moments to recover. Ronan couldn’t help but smile slightly as his brain worked and reworked Adam’s words. Well, one word in particular. 

_Love_.

They had only been dating for a few months; according to standard societal conventions, the ‘l’ word should have been off the table for the foreseeable future. Not that Ronan didn’t love Adam — on the contrary, he loved Adam so much that it was very nearly frightening. He had been in love with Adam longer than should have been possible, and Adam knew it, and Ronan knew that Adam knew it, but neither of them said anything for fear of scaring the other away. 

But now — here — this. Adam had admitted to something, calculated and deliberate but an admittance nonetheless. And Ronan had admitted something in return, only able to hope it was enough. 

“I’m afraid,” Adam began, and just as before, he had to pause to collect himself. He swallowed nervously. “I’m afraid of it.”

Ronan scratched his blunt fingernails against Adam’s scalp. “Afraid of what?”

Blinking sleepily, Adam exhaled through his nose. “Everything,” he breathed. “I’m afraid to love you. I’m afraid to not love you. I’m afraid that I’ll hurt you.”

Ronan considered this. There were so many things he knew about Adam — what songs he sang in the shower, his curse words of choice during bad traffic, what made his toes curl and his eyes go wild — but there were also a million things Ronan _didn’t_ know. Adam’s adolescence was one gigantic blank space, and while it was obvious that _something_ sinister lurked in the past, Ronan couldn’t be sure as to what. 

The _what_ of the thing didn’t matter, though, Ronan told himself. Aloud, he asked, “Are you afraid that _I’ll_ hurt _you_?”

“No,” Adam answered, so quickly that it had to be the truth. His voice was soft, contemplative. “No, I’ve never worried about that for a second.”

Anxieties that Ronan hadn’t even realized he was carrying melted away, but there was still tension in the set of his shoulders. He wanted to reach his hands into Adam’s chest and pull out everything that hurt, everything that had ever hurt, everything that might hurt one day. He wanted to bring Adam into his dreams and create a world where pain didn’t exist, and keep Adam in there forever, safe and sound.

How rarely Ronan truly got what he wanted. 

“I’m not worried about you hurting me,” he said truthfully, because he was Ronan and he did not tell lies. He knew that Adam had the power to hurt him, to split him in half, but he was long past the days of being afraid of it. He trusted Adam, wholeheartedly and without room for regret. “You’re a good fuckin’ person, Parrish.”

In the back of his throat, Adam made a disagreeable noise. He opened his mouth, to argue, probably, but Ronan interrupted him. “Do you trust me?”

Adam answered in a heartbeat. “Of course.”

Even though he had known the answer before asking the question, Ronan’s face flushed slightly. “Would I ever lie to you?” he asked.

Adam hesitated for a moment there, but not the sort of hesitation that came before a lie; it was more like the pause that came just as you realized you were wrong and you were about to lose your argument. “No,” he breathed, deflating slightly.

Ronan rolled over, then, to lay on his side and face Adam. “So,” he said, his voice leaving no room for an argument, “you’re a good person.”

“You _believe_ I’m a good person,” Adam shot back, still not looking at him. Ronan slid his hand down till it was spread across Adam’s face.

“You’re impossible,” Ronan groaned, but it was too adoring to be an admonishment. 

“Howdy,” Noah said, hip-checking Ronan as he joined him in line. They were meeting for their usual coffee before Ronan’s sparring session at the gym. “What’s on your mind, big fella?”

Ronan snorted, glaring down his nose at his friend. “Czerny,” he said in greeting.

Noah smiled and leaned against Ronan slightly. “What’re you doing for Adam’s birthday?”

Ronan froze. It wasn’t the non-sequitur that caught him off guard — he normally had no problem keeping up with Noah’s strange interests and short attention span — but this was the first he was hearing of Adam’s birthday. His _boyfriend’s_ birthday.

Eloquently, he grunted, “The fuck did you just say?”

Noah took a step forward as the line shifted, unfazed as always. “Like, is he having a party? Or are you just keeping it simple, just the two of you?” He glanced at Ronan, but when Ronan remained unmoving and unspeaking, he continued, “Oh, does he have to work?”

Ronan blinked, then cleared his throat. “His _birthday_ ,” he repeated belatedly. “It’s his… it’s his birthday? When?”

Finally, Noah had the good sense to look sheepish. He hesitated slightly before saying, more subdued than usual, “Um, today?”

The breath left Ronan’s lungs like he had been hit in the chest.

“Fuck,” he swore emphatically. “ _Fuck._ ”

Stepping up to the counter, Noah placed their order quietly and paid for it while Ronan rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes, hard. Noah had to grip his bicep and pull him toward a table to get them out of the way of waiting customers.

After they had sat down, Noah said, voice tight, “Did you forget?”

“No,” Ronan snapped immediately, dropping his hands to his lap. He felt electric, but not in a good way — it was the sort of agitated energy that pushed him to street racing and bar fights. He tried to swallow it down. “He didn’t _tell_ me.”

Noah’s intake of breath could have meant a thousand things. “Oh,” he said in a low voice. “That’s — oh.”

Ronan clenched his jaw. “Yeah.” He folded his hands on the table in front of him and then unfolded them so he could drum his fingers against the tabletop. “How the fuck did you hear about it?” he asked bitterly.

Across the table, Noah was grimacing. He was no longer looking at Ronan; instead, his gaze fell heavily on the napkin dispenser between them. “Gansey told me.”

Ronan’s reaction was immediate and swift: he stood up so quickly that his chair toppled over backward, the noise drawing the attention of every customer and employee in the coffee shop. “ _Gansey_?” he bit out, linking his hands together behind his head. “Parrish told _Gansey_ , but not _me_?”

Noah stood up then, too, albeit in a calmer and more graceful movement. “I don’t think Adam told him,” he said quickly, his hands raised in a placating gesture. It somehow only served to make Ronan angrier. “I think Blue told Gansey.”

That, at least, made a little bit of sense. Sargent had known Adam for years, supposedly, although she was not exactly a free-flowing well of information about Adam’s past. Any time Ronan asked a question, Sargent just leveled him with a glare of startling ferocity. It didn’t frighten Ronan, or even annoy him, but it had so far proven to be an efficient and inescapable conversation-ender.

“Shit,” Ronan hissed, and he was suddenly aware of all the eyes on him. “ _Shit_.” He stooped down to pick the chair up and then took a twenty-dollar bill from his wallet and threw it on the table. “I’ve gotta go,” he said, and without another word, he stormed out the door. 

“Parrish,” grumbled Ronan as he stepped into the gym locker room to find Adam slipping out of a button-up shirt.

Adam’s smile was so uncomplicated and joyful that Ronan very nearly forgot that he was angry. “Lynch,” he said, folding his shirt neatly and sticking it in his duffel bag. Ronan’s eyes followed the movement of his hands momentarily before snapping back up to his face. There was an amused glint in Adam’s eye, but all he said was, “How’s your day been so far?”

It had only been a handful of hours since they had seen each other last; Ronan had stayed overnight in the dingy little apartment that Blue and Adam shared downtown, and they had only parted when Adam got up to go to work and Ronan decided he would rather hang out at his place then eat breakfast with Sargent. It was absurd that Ronan had missed Adam already, after barely more than six hours, but it was also true.

Ronan was also, in that moment, incredibly angry, as well as slightly turned on.

“Oh, it’s been fine,” Ronan drawled, stalking across the locker room toward his boyfriend. He threw his bag down on the bench. “Went home, did some laundry.” He slumped volatilely against the lockers and kicked off his boots. “Went for coffee with Czerny.” Pushed off the lockers just enough to shrug off his hoodie and toss it toward his bag. “Found out it’s your fuckin’ birthday.”

That was obviously not what Adam had expected to hear; he froze in the middle of pulling a t-shirt over his head, his entire face hidden from view by the worn red fabric. He seemed to take a moment to collect himself before yanking the shirt down and into place. His eyes were downcast when he finally spoke. “Where’d you hear that?”

He hadn’t denied it; it was _true_. Ronan clenched his hands into fists and unclenched them. “Czerny,” he spat, undoing his belt buckle. He shoved out of his jeans and began to dig around in his bag for sweatpants. “Who heard it from Gansey, who heard it from Blue.” He spun around, then, still pant-less, to glare at Adam. “Care to tell me why I didn’t hear it from _you_?”

Adam’s face grew shuttered and wary, but he did not step backwards (although he seemed to be one wrong move from fleeing the scene). His voice was even and measured, but the rapid rise and fall of his chest gave away just how hard he was breathing. “It wasn’t important,” he said, and it was obvious that he meant it.

Ronan blinked. The rage in his veins burned even hotter, but it wasn’t directed at Adam then. “It _is_ important,” he hissed, trying and failing to repress the anger that was only building inside of him. Adam didn’t deserve the brunt of it. “It’s _important_ , Adam.”

If this meant anything to Adam — if he agreed, if he disagreed, if he didn’t care either way — it was impossible to tell. He was perfectly expressionless as he nodded, and his voice was flat when he said, “I have a quiz to study for,” and turned to pick up his bag.

Ronan reached out to grab Adam’s wrist then, but at the last second he pulled his hand back. Something felt off-kilter, and he didn’t want to risk making things worse. “Parrish,” he said. “Come on. Stay.”

Adam stepped carefully around Ronan as he headed for the door. “I’ll see you later.”

“Parrish,” Ronan repeated. “Are you still coming over tonight?”

One hand on the door, Adam paused. He didn’t so much as glance over his shoulder as he said, “Yeah, ‘course,” before stepping out and leaving Ronan alone in the locker room. Ronan’s hands clenched into fists again, and this time, he let them.

“We are not,” Ronan intoned, “throwing him a fuckin’ surprise party.”

Gansey looked appalled. “And why not?” he asked, giving an indignant sniff. “I know that _I_ , for one, would _love_ —”

Ronan cut him off with a snort. “Yeah, exactly,” he said, leaning against the counter. “He’s not _like_ you, Gansey.”

Somehow, this upset Gansey _more_ ; he furrowed his brows and took a step back, crossing his arms over his chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It _means_ ,” Ronan drew out the word and rolled his eyes, “that he doesn’t give a shit about, like, pageantry, or pomp, or, or, or —”

“Pizzazz?” Gansey suggested drily.

Ronan snapped his fingers and pointed, a very Gansey-like gesture from a very un-Gansey-like man. “Yeah,” he said, nodding. “He wouldn’t want anything big, or whatever. Just trust me on this, okay? I know him.”

Gansey didn’t respond verbally, but his unimpressed blink said what they were both thinking: _You think you know him, but he didn’t even tell you today was his birthday. What does that mean?_

“Fine,” Gansey relented after several long seconds, and his shoulders slumped as he sighed. “How about just you, me, Blue, Noah, and Henry?”

Ronan scrunched his face up out of obligation when Gansey mentioned Cheng, but he said nothing; his feud with Henry was simply performative. At the end of the day, they were actually pretty good friends. “Okay,” he said, nodding. “Yeah, I don’t think that would suck too much.”

“Is that really where the bar is for this party?” mumbled Gansey, sounding disappointed. “Not sucking?” He sighed then and straightened up, a picture of perfect posture. “I’ll get the food and tell the gang. You focus on making the apartment presentable.”

The apartment that Gansey and Ronan shared was absolutely spotless, so it wasn’t like much work would have to be done on his part, but Ronan didn’t argue. “Thanks, Gansey,” he said with a grateful nod, and Gansey returned the nod and then left, walking out the door purposefully. 

Ronan felt a bit guilty with the idea of allowing Gansey to do the majority of the work, so he actually put some effort into vacuuming the main room (“It’s not a _foyer_ , Gansey, Jesus Christ”) and cleaning out the refrigerator (a chore that had evidently not been done _at least_ since the boys had moved in a few years ago) and starting a load of laundry (if he was mixing his darks and Gansey’s whites, sue him). He worked with the sort of vigorous energy he put into everything, a pair of Bluetooth headphones assaulting his ears with electronica, and he was so caught up in his cleaning that he nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a hand at his elbow.

“Jumpy,” Noah observed, ducking easily underneath the jab of Ronan’s elbow. He crossed the room and collapsed into the couch cushions, kicking his shoes off. “Rough day, loverboy?”

Ronan bared his teeth and yanked his headphones down around his neck. “I should have killed you,” he said.

Noah’s smile was easygoing as always. “Yeah, but here we are anyway.” He pointed two finger-guns at someone behind Ronan’s back, and Ronan turned to level his second guest with a glare. “Babe,” Noah said.

If Ronan’s glare affected Henry Cheng in the slightest, he didn’t let on. “Something to drink?” he guessed before Noah could say anything more, and he gave a triumphant grin when Noah nodded his assent. Henry opened the refrigerator and then gasped theatrically. “Lynch, I think somebody broke in and cleaned your refrigerator!”

Rolling his eyes, Ronan tossed down the pair of socks he had been folding. “Get the fuck out of my fridge,” he grunted noncomittally. “How’d you even get in here?”

From his spot on the couch, Noah waved a hand breezily. “Door was unlocked,” he said, holding out his hand to take a glass of dark liquid as Henry came to sit beside him. “You’re cleaning.”

Ronan furrowed his brows. “Yeah?”

“You never clean.”

“And you never shut up,” Ronan snapped, but a blush rose to his cheeks anyway. He continued to fold clothes in the silence until Noah spoke up again.

“You like him a lot, don’t you?”

The easy answer was a quick, non-negotiable _yes_. Of course he liked Adam a lot, how couldn’t he? There had never been any question of _if he liked Adam_ , because as long as Ronan had even known that Adam existed, he had liked him. Before they had spoken, before Ronan even knew his name, he had known. 

But Ronan didn’t just _like him a lot_. He loved him. It was just another truth of the universe: the sun rises, the world turns, people die, Ronan loves Adam. More reliable than time. More intense than nature. All-consuming, never-ending, _love_.

“Yes,” Ronan said quietly, because it was easier than explaining the gravity of the situation.

Judging by the way Noah’s face softened, it was possible that he understood anyway. “Tonight’s gonna be great, Ronan,” he said gently.

Ronan bristled. “I know,” he said, even though he still wasn’t sure. “I know.”

The party went flawlessly.

 _Almost_.

In most ways, the night was fantastic. Adam was surprised when he showed up, but he didn’t seem to feel ambushed. Gansey had been talked down from balloons and streamers, thank God, and Ronan satisfied him by allowing him to hand-decorate the blank sheet cake he brought back from the supermarket. Blue picked the movie, guaranteeing that it was something that Adam would enjoy, and Noah mixed the drinks, ensuring that Adam received nothing alcoholic, and Henry brought out the board games when the movie ended, supplying the group with a few more hours of fun before Adam was practically dead on his feet. He was still laughing from a joke Henry had made when he swayed to his feet, sober but exhausted, and announced that he was going to bed.

And then, his phone rang.

Theoretically, Ronan knew that Adam must have known other people — friends or family that he had never mentioned or introduced to Ronan. And that was fine. But something about the six of them being in the same room as Adam and Adam receiving a phone call just didn’t sit right with Ronan.

His suspicions only intensified when Adam pulled his phone from his pocket, glanced at the caller I.D., and immediately went stony-faced.

“I’ve gotta take this,” he muttered, his voice somber. The color had drained from his cheeks. “I’ll, uh, I’ll be right back.” He accepted the call and pressed the phone to his right ear, turning and walking straight out the door.

Still sprawled on the living room floor, the five remaining friends stared after him in concern. “What was that about?” Gansey asked after a second, his gaze flitting to Ronan. Ronan could only shrug, anxiety building in his chest.

“You should go after him,” said Blue, so soft that Ronan nearly missed it.

He blinked at her. “Huh?”

When she finally pulled her gaze from the door, she seemed to be caught between devastation and rage. “Go after him,” she repeated, and her tone was harsh. “He shouldn’t be alone.”

“The fuck are you talking about?” Ronan muttered, but he was already standing up.

“I may not be a psychic,” Blue snapped, her frame tense even as Gansey reached out to rub her arm soothingly. She allowed the touch but didn’t acknowledge it. “But I have a pretty good guess who’s on the other side of that phone, and I really think Adam should have someone with him right now. Preferably you, but if you aren’t out that door in the next five god damn seconds—”

Ronan did not need any more incentive than that. He was through the apartment door in a flash, but the hallway was empty, so he stopped for a moment to think. There were two directions he could go in, two places to look for Adam: the roof, or the street.

As quickly as he asked himself the question, he knew the answer: the street. Adam Parrish was a creature of habit, and he consistently seeked comfort with his feet on the ground. Ronan shoved into the stairwell and headed down, taking the steps two at a time.

The building’s lobby was empty but for the doorman this late at night, and Ronan burst out into the warm summer air half-hysterically, gasping in a loud breath as the doors shut smoothly behind him. He glanced erratically to his left, his right, and then left again — there was Adam, leaning against the building in the darkness, arms folded tight across his chest and cell phone clutched tightly in one hand. The call was evidently over, but he was still stiff as a board where he stood, taking even, measured breaths.

He did not look up as Ronan approached. “Hey,” Ronan breathed, leaning against the wall beside Adam. He did not ask _who was that?_ He did not ask _are you okay?_ He did not ask anything at all. He could feel them coming to a precipice, but he couldn’t quite tell if they were going to step forward or backward. He wasn’t sure which option was better.

“Hey,” said Adam in a small voice, but his eyes were pointed straight ahead, a distant, vacant quality to them. They were fixed on a flickering streetlight and the moths that flew in and out of the sickly yellow glow, but he didn’t exactly seem to be absorbing the image. It was more like he was looking _through_ the light, looking at nothing at all.

His phone began to ring.

Adam did not so much as glance at the screen. He did not reject the call, or silence his phone, or do anything; he just stood there and stared out at the street until the ringing stopped, and then he let out a sigh so tiny that Ronan might not have noticed it if he hadn’t been practically plastered to Adam’s side.

The phone began to ring again.

Without thinking, Ronan reached out and slid the phone from Adam’s grasp. Adam didn’t quite let go freely, but he didn’t tighten his grip or pull away, so Ronan took the phone fully and squinted at the bright screen. The number that was calling was not saved to Adam’s contacts, but the area code was labelled as _Henrietta, Virginia_ and Ronan recognized that, at least. He accepted the call and pressed the phone to his ear. Somehow, before he even knew what he was going to be confronted with, his body seemed to realize that something terrible was happening; he felt suddenly physically ill.

As soon as the call connected, an angry man’s voice was shouting through the receiver. “You hang up on me?” he barked, obviously deeply offended. “Who do you think you _are_ , you ungrateful—”

Tone icy, Ronan interrupted. “Who the fuck is this?” he demanded, deceptively calm. His free hand curled into a fist and then relaxed. He wanted to reach out and touch Adam, but he was too afraid of the reaction he might meet. He flattened his palm against the wall instead.

“Who the fuck is _this_?” the voice repeated, outraged. He was breathing heavily, and Ronan imagined he could smell the booze on the man’s breath even over the phone. “Put my son back on _right now_ or so help me—”

“So help you what?” Ronan said, even as he went lightheaded. He had known, somewhere deep down, but he hadn’t _known_ until that moment, truly _known_ it. He wanted to cry. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to put his fist through a wall. Before the man could reply, Ronan continued. “Let’s get one thing straight. You are never going to call this number again. You are never going to talk to him like this again. You are never going to contact him on his birthday again. Do you understand me?”

There was a loud, indignant huff from the other side of the call. “How _dare_ you think you can tell me what to do?” As the man got angrier, his accent got thicker. He was slipping ‘r’s into words where they didn’t belong, dropping ‘g’s altogether. “Who do you think you are, tellin’ me how and when I can talk to my son? Put that fuckin’ boy back on the phone _now_ —”

“If you continue to call this number and harass him,” Ronan spat, unwilling to even say Adam’s name to this man, holding it to his chest like something sacred, “then I will file a lawsuit against you and take this up in a court of law. Is that what you want?”

The man was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, a hint of doubt had crept into his voice. “ _Harass_ ,” he repeated bitterly. “He’s my _son_ , I can talk to him however—”

Ronan was done with this. He was done with this entire fucking night. “And who do you think a judge will be more inclined to listen to? A drunk-ass scum-of-the-earth piece of shit like you, or an honors student at fucking _Harvard_?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “Goodnight,” he bit out, and then he hung up.

During all of that, Adam had not moved from his spot against the wall. He didn’t look like he had so much as blinked, but after a few seconds in the silence, he reached out and twined a hand with Ronan hesitantly. He looked ridiculously like he thought _Ronan_ might be the one to pull away, but Ronan just squeezed his hand, hard. The contact seemed to anchor both of them.

“My father used to beat me,” Adam said after a moment of unbearable quiet.

Ronan did not know what to say to that — there was nothing _to_ say to that. He just continued to hold Adam’s hand.

“He’s the reason I’m deaf in one ear.” Adam sounded very controlled, very neutral, and the way it contrasted with the tidal wave of rage in Ronan’s chest was uncomfortable and ugly. “He calls every year on my birthday to tell me that I should be calling and thanking _him_.”

Ronan nearly choked on his fury. He wanted to burn Adam’s childhood home to the ground with his father inside of it. He barely managed to stop himself from vocalizing that thought when he opened his mouth. “Fuck that,” he said instead.

Somehow, some way, that drew a short laugh from Adam. It was more of an exhale than a laugh, really, but it was punctuated by a twitch of the lips, and Ronan would take any win he could get in that moment. “Fuck that,” Adam agreed, and then he pushed off from the wall. He glanced at the door and then away, more outwardly nervous then than he had been all evening. “Am I still staying here tonight, or should I—?”

“Of course you’re still staying here,” Ronan interrupted, frowning. “Don’t ask stupid ass questions.” He slung an arm over Adam’s shoulders and led him inside.

The rest of the gang was still in the living room when Ronan and Adam came back up, but before they could even begin to ask any questions, they were silenced by Ronan’s sharp glare over Adam’s head. “We’re going to bed,” he announced gruffly, guiding Adam toward his bedroom, and that was that.

They changed into pajamas — Ronan in a pair of sweatpants, Adam in a t-shirt and boxers — and brushed their teeth and then slid beneath the duvet of Ronan’s spacious king-sized bed. Ronan settled down close to the middle, not avoiding Adam but giving him space and the chance to choose just how much contact he wanted. Adam hesitated for only a moment before shifting over until he was on his side, pressed against Ronan, leaning his head on Ronan’s chest. The room was quiet except for the sounds of their breathing and the rustling of their blankets.

When Adam eventually broke the silence, his voice was sleepy and pliant. “This is the best birthday I’ve ever had,” he mumbled matter-of-factly.

Something inside Ronan just absolutely _shattered_.

“I love you,” said Ronan.

He didn’t know what he had been expecting, even after the conversation just a few days ago — would Adam pull away? would he freeze up? would he say “thank you” and move on? — but it certainly wasn’t _this_ , it wasn’t Adam nuzzling his face deeper into the crook of Ronan’s shoulder and saying quietly but earnestly, “I love you, too.”

Something loud and ferocious inside of Ronan quieted. _I could stay here forever_ , he thought, and for once, it wasn’t such a ridiculous notion. 

He didn’t realize that he’d said it out loud until Adam breathed in his ear, “I could stay here forever, too.”

“I love you,” Ronan said again, because it bore repeating.

Adam smiled where his face was pressed against Ronan’s neck. “I love you, too,” he said again, and then, judging by the flutter of his eyelashes, he promptly fell asleep.

When they awoke the next morning, the entire room was covered in white rose petals, and Adam and Ronan kissed away their matching blushes, whispering _I love you_ back and forth until it stopped sounding like a real sentence (it never stopped _feeling_ like a real sentence, though).

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoyed it! honestly i could be persuaded into writing a ton more ficlets for this universe, i have so many headcanons specifically for this universe that it's funny. anyway, happy freaking birthday adam parrish!!!!! today and always, ronan and i are both no thoughts, head empty, adam parrish! p.s. title is obviously just, like, a common phrase, but here it is specifically in reference to the song laughter lines by bastille because i don't listen to anyone else anymore apparently. anyway, as always, you're always welcome to come talk to me on tumblr! i'm @wespers and we're currently on 24-hour adam parrish lockdown (to be fair, though, aren't we kinda always on adam parrish lockdown?)! i hope you're all doing well and staying safe! ♡


End file.
